"Don't let him eat any more wool off that lamb of his, will you?"
"All right."
"I sha'n't be long. Or I don't expect so."
"If he comes back from Plymouth before you come in, where shall I say you've gone?" May asked.
"Oh, tell him 'Rats!' I can't help his troubles. So long," said Jenny emphatically.
"Say 'ta—ta' nicely to your mother, young Frank," commanded Aunt May.
As Jenny faded into the mist, the boy hammered his farewells upon the window-pane; and for awhile in the colorless air she saw his rosy cheeks burning like lamps, or like the love for him in her own heart. Before she turned up the drive, she waited to listen for the click and tinkle of Granfa's horticulture, but there was no sound of his spade. Farther along she met Thomas.
"Morning! Mrs. Trewhella!"
"Morning, young Thomas."
"Going for a walk, are 'ee?"